


Shark Week

by Mellorine



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Comedy, Sex Farce, Shark Dicks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-13
Updated: 2016-06-13
Packaged: 2018-07-14 21:32:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7191335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mellorine/pseuds/Mellorine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From thaw to war in under an hour doesn't leave much room for sex ed. Or: Riptide has two spikes. What, you don't?</p><p>NOTICE: This is a two-chapter fic. The second chapter is going to have some uncomfortable scenes in it that could be taken as dubcon, so feel free to only read the first chapter if you're just looking for goofy comedy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shark Week

**Author's Note:**

> Three things you should know:
> 
> 1) This takes place before Teebs kicks the bucket.  
> 2) It was written before we got that issue where he stated his preferences in a partner so, y'know, just ignore that.  
> 3) I reject any and all canon that states Riptide doesn't have sexy sharp shark teeth.

Riptide watched Trailcutter through his glass of engex. Like this, he was just a big, pink blob. Not at all attractive. Yeah, pink blob Trailcutter. Riptide could deal with that. That was manageable.

His glass nearly spilled as Skids shoved him over to sit next to him. "Oh just go ask him already, I could feel your EM field crackling from halfway across the bar."

Riptide turned a horrified look on the spec ops agent. “What? No!” Primus, was his EM field really that obvious? Great, and now he was thinking about it, and that was probably just making it worse.

“C’mon, go ahead! He has this thing he can do with his force field; it’s  _amazing_. And he’ll definitely say yes, I’m pretty sure he has a thing for back kibble, and yours is, uh, kinda intense.” Skids said, patting said back kibble.

He likes back kibble? Riptide gave Trailcutter another look. “If you’re wrong,” he said, “drinks for the rest of the night.”

“Drinks for the rest of the night.” Skids grinned. “Go!”

Riptide took a deep breath and stood up. “Drinks for the rest of the night and I get to punch you in the face.”

“Oh, just go already.” Skids shoved him in Trailcutter’s direction.

Riptide stumbled, righting himself into a smooth strut. At least, he hoped it was smooth. And a strut. Okay, scratch that, normal walking. 

And maybe he walked a little too fast because now he was standing right in front of him and oh Primus what was he supposed to say -

“Hey, uh,”  _frag frag frag frag frag_ , “hi.”  _Frag._

“Hey, Riptide! What’s up?” Trailcutter smiled, and Riptide felt his spark flop around in his chest.

“I, uh.” He sat down next to Trailcutter. He should be sitting down, right? “You busy after this?” 

“Nah.” Trailcutter shook his head. “You wanna come back to my place?”

Riptide nodded dumbly. That had been...surprisingly easy. Was it always this easy? He’d been panicking for nothing, hadn’t he. Well, not like he was about to complain.

“Awesome.” Trailcutter tipped back his drink and stood up. “Let’s mosey.”

Riptide scrambled to his pedes and followed Trailcutter out of Swerve’s, trying his damnedest not to let Skids know he definitely saw him in the corner there, giving Riptide a cheesy grin and two thumbs up.

 

* * *

 

 

Riptide stared.  _It’s rude to stare, stop staring, you need to stop staring right now_  a little voice in the back of his head kept telling him. And yet. 

Riptide stared. 

Was it a war wound? How did someone get a war wound like  _that_? Oh no, back away from that thought. He really didn’t want to know. Maybe he’d been in an accident. A completely innocent, horrific accident.

“Pretty impressive, huh?” Trailcutter stood, servos on hips. Full display. Riptide literally could not look away.

“Yeah,” Riptide squeaked. “Sure is.”

“Hey,” Trailcutter frowned. “You sure you wanna go through with this? We can just get drinks if you’re getting cold pedes.”

“No! I mean yes! I mean,”  _c’mon Riptide, don’t get all weird on him now, he's still so hot_ ,  _oh Primus,_  “word on the ship is you can do some kinda forcefield trick?”

 

* * *

 

 

"Sooo.” Skids planted himself next to Riptide, interrupting his current plan of spending the evening staring dreamily into his glass of engex. “How’d it go?”

Riptide grinned against his glass. “Good.”

“Good? Just good? Not great? Not mind-blowingly fantastic? Not the best frag of your entire function? Not -.”

“Okay, yes! It was great! It was all those things.” His fans threatened to click on, and he hurriedly sent an override.

“See, what did I tell you! Knew he’d say yes,” Skids said.

"Yeah...," Riptide trailed off. "I feel kinda bad for him though."

"What?"

"I mean, can't Ratchet do something for him?" Riptide leaned forward conspiratorially. "He replaced his own hands, this can't be  _that_ different."

"What?"

"You know, his," Riptide leaned in closer, "his  _problem_. With his spike."

Skids sat back. "Problem with his spike." 

Riptide nodded furiously. Yes, finally,  _Primus_ , he knew Skids had been drinking but really,  _come on_. 

"Problem," Skids rolled the words around on his glossa, "with his  _spike_. Hey Trailcutter!" he yelled across the bar. "You got a problem with your spike?"

Riptide froze. "Skids,  _what are you doing_ ," he hissed. 

Across the bar, Trailcutter paused, looked down, then back up. "I don't think so," he called back, and returned to his drink.

" _Primus_ , what is wrong with you!" Riptide swatted Skids. "You know what I'm talking about."

"I assure you I do not." Skids took another sip of his drink, watching with amused optics.

Riptide ex-vented heavily and glared at Skids. "He only has one spike," he ground out.

Skids choked on his drink. "What?" he gasped.

Oh great,  _this_  again. "He only has one spike," Riptide repeated.

"Okay, wait, hold on, back up. He only has what?"

"One. Spike." Riptide was going to punch Skids in the faceplate before the night was through, see if he didn't.

"And, um." Skids peered at Riptide. "How many is the normal number, would you say?"

How many drinks had Skids  _had_? "Two. You're Spec Ops, shouldn't you know this?"

"Yeah, clearly my education was lacking. And, uh, just to clarify, how many spikes do you have?"

"Two! The normal amount! I have two spikes!" Riptide shouted.

The bar got very quiet, and in the sudden hush Riptide distinctly heard the sound of cooling fans switching on.

Swerve popped up on the other side of the bar and slid a drink in front of Riptide. "On the house. Please, tell me more."

Riptide eyed the drink. It looked...expensive. "Huh?" he said, eloquently.

"Step aside everyone," Brainstorm elbowed his way through the growing crowd (and when had a crowd started gathering?) and plonked down his briefcase. "As ship's genius I'm going to need to take some measurements. Samples. This is extremely important scientific work and I will not be  _jostled! Whirl!_ "

"Two, huh?" Whirl leered down at Riptide's spike panel. "C'mon toothy, show us the goods."

"What? No!" Riptide grabbed the nearest thing - Brainstorm's briefcase, to the scientist's alarm - and planted it in his lap, then shoved it away when it dragged Brainstorm's servo perilously close to his crotch.

"Two spikes? Frag me, can you even imagine?  _Unf._ "

"So, like, do you think he frags two at a time, or is it all double penetration?"

" _Please_. You've all been watching too many porn vids."

"Oh, just because you don't even have a chance."

"Is it a mod? Can  _I_ get that mod?"

"Hey," Atomizer appeared out of nowhere and laid a servo on Riptide's thigh. "You have any plans for later?"

Riptide dashed out of the bar so fast he left a slipstream in his wake.

"Wait! You forgot your drink!"

 

* * *

 

 

Peeking his helm around the corner, Riptide snuck his way down the halls of the Lost Light.

His entire life had gone to the Pit in the space of a single orn. One orn. The only thing that could make this any worse was if Ultra Magnus decided to issue a pop quiz on Cybertronian anatomy. 

Getaway and Nightbeat came around the corner further ahead. Seeing Riptide, Getaway's optics brightened. "Riptide! You busy tonight?"

" _Yes_." Riptide glared at the floor and stomped past.

Behind him, Nightbeat consoled the escape artist. "You know he's probably got mechs lining up outside his room."

The worst part of it was, Nightbeat wasn't exaggerating. Riptide had onlined that morning and stumbled out of his habsuite, only to run smack into Nautica, leaning against the opposite wall.

"Want to get some energon together?" she'd purred, and Riptide had promptly retreated back inside and hadn't come back out for the rest of the morning.

Maybe not his finest hour.

Sighing in relief, Riptide finally laid optics on his destination. He slipped inside the medbay and reset his vocalizer.

Ratchet turned, startled. "I didn't expect to see you here," he said.

Riptide's plating heated. "Nevermind," he muttered, and turned to leave.

"No, no, you're here, sit down," Ratchet waved towards the row of medberths lining the wall.

Vorns of training snapped into place, and Riptide was sitting down before he could even think to retreat.

"So." Ratchet came over. "What seems to be the problem."

"I, uh."  _This is the worst this is the worst just kill me now._  "I think I have a, uh, defect?"

Ratchet dragged a servo across his faceplates. "Did someone put you up to this? If it was Rodimus, I'm going to nail his aft to the hull of this ship."

"...No?" Put him up to what? Oh Primus, this was all a big prank, wasn't it. Everyone had conspired to make him think he was some kind of freak because he was, what? One of the newbies? An M.T.O.? Just because he happened to be in the right place at the right time for a really good prank?

"All right, let's get this over with. Pop your panel, will you?"

Riptide scowled. Fine. Fragging fine. His spike panel slid to the side and his twin spikes jutted free, half-pressurized.

"Um," Ratchet's vocalizer audibly reset. "It would seem I owe you an apology." Riptide glanced up, his plating heating further. "How long have you, uh," the doctor's jaw worked awkwardly, "had this...condition?"

"For…ever?" Oh no, and now it was going to turn into a  _quiz_.

"And this never came up before now because...?"

"I dunno, it just never came up? I mean, my alt-mode's a fraggin'  _boat_ , I don't exactly have people lining up to jump my struts." Riptide's mouth twisted. "Or I didn't use to."

"Didn't come up...," Ratchet frowned. "How much sex ed have you  _had_?"

"Ugh, don't remind me." Riptide winced. "'Don't frag with your firewalls down: you'll get viruses.' 'Don't frag the enemy: you'll get viruses.' They pounded those two things into us over and over, I thought my processor was gonna melt."

"That would explain it," Ratchet muttered. "You're an M.T.O., right?"

"Yeah," replied Riptide, somewhat defensively. Sure, Ratchet was a doctor, but that was kinda personal, wasn't it?

"Honestly, I," Ratchet's optics kept sliding down to Riptide's equipment, and Riptide hurriedly packed it away. "I really don't know what to tell you. Must've been a glitch on the assembly line. Either that, or someone has a fragged up sense of humor. Here," he walked over to his desk and came back with a few datapads. "You should probably read up."

Riptide took the datapads, confused.  _Your Interface Array and You._   _The Port and the Plug: Deconstructing Myths and Misconceptions of Interfacing._   _How to Face Interfacing._   _When Firewalls Aren't Enough: Knowing Your Anti-Viral Options._

Oh. Great.  _Homework._


End file.
